


Appetizers

by Ladycat



Series: In the Middle of Dinner [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dehumanization, Dirty Talk, Feminization, M/M, Omega Steve Rogers, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:02:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26203117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: Unsurprisingly, Bucky has a thing about chairs.It isn’t all of them. As chairs are one of those ubiquitous items, that’s probably a good thing. But if the chair has a high back or a certain amount of gleaming chrome along its limbs, something slithery and slick slides down his spine, skin going taut even as his focus… narrows.Shell-shock—no, they call it PTSD now—is a bitch.Still. Normal things, like sofas deep enough to be swallowed by or the modern monstrosities Stark favors, those are fine.This chair—this chair should be fine, too.He clicks buy.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: In the Middle of Dinner [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1902889
Comments: 7
Kudos: 208





	Appetizers

Unsurprisingly, Bucky has a _thing_ about chairs.

It isn’t all of them. As chairs are one of those ubiquitous items, that’s probably a good thing. But if the chair has a high back or a certain amount of gleaming chrome along its limbs, something slithery and slick slides down his spine, skin going taut even as his focus… narrows.

Shell-shock—no, they call it PTSD now—is a bitch.

Still. Normal things, like sofas deep enough to be swallowed by or the modern monstrosities Stark favors, those are fine.

This chair—this chair should be fine, too.

He clicks _buy_.

Then goes back and pays for extra-expedited shipping.

Four hours later Bucky lets a pair of delivery men into the apartment and tries not to loom too threateningly as they unbox and set it up.

It’s perfect. Bucky runs a metal finger over the length of it, just once, just to see. The enhanced features mean he gets to feel everything about it—the smooth wood, the satiny feel of the seat. The softness of the drop-away front. It’s _perfect_.

When the apartment door opens again, Bucky doesn’t exactly _hastily_ draw his hand away, but he does move a little quicker than he needs to in order to get himself in front of the chair so that it’s mostly hidden. “Hey, Stevie,” he calls.

Steve, half-way into the room, stops dead. “Bucky,” he greets, cautiously. “What’s that?”

“Present.”

The wariness tightening Steve’s features gets more pronounced. It makes his nose look even bigger than normal, almost like a clown. Bucky may be hopelessly charmed whenever he can get Steve to look like this. Maybe.

Steve edges further into the room, sighing like he isn’t surprised when Bucky shifts to make certain his view is blocked. “A present. For you or for me?”

Bucky’s grin is as wolfish as his preferred moniker. Rather than answer, he holds out a thin black cloth. “Put this on first.”

“Buck—”

“Not a suggestion.”

It’s been a long damn day for Steve. Meeting after meeting then some kind of press-event that he’d been dreading for the past week. He’s been Captain America every waking moment for days on end, always so commanding and in control, tall and proud and unassailable.

Now he sags, shoulders rounding, head sinking down in between. “Yes, Alpha,” he murmurs.

Gorgeous. Always so damn gorgeous.

Blindfold on, Steve doesn’t bother waiting for the inevitable command and starts to strip. Bucky watches for a moment, always happy to watch that golden skin come into complete view, then quietly orders Steve to kneel.

This is always one of the sweetest moments. When the big, strong alpha persona sloughs off, leaving nothing but Steve Rogers underneath. The dichotomy always engendered something similar in Bucky, repulsed and fascinated both. That Steve can manage it at all is regularly lauded in articles, even some medical journals.

None of them know the cost. None but Bucky, anyway.

“Can you walk here blindfolded or do you need to crawl?” An observer might find the question sweet, caring.

It isn’t. Steve shivers under the mockery, the palpable distrust, but keeps his head demurely lowered even as he shakes it negatively.

“No, you can’t walk through a completely open, obstacle-free floor plan to the sound of my voice?”

The small, wet sound of a swallow is shockingly loud. “I can,” Steve says. It isn’t _quite_ stuttered, but there’s a flutter of hesitation between the words that makes something dark and rich burst over Bucky’s tongue.

Later, much later, he’ll croon _pretty boy_ with that perfect blend of affection and derision. If he does it now Steve will bristle. He won’t mean to, still too caught up in being Captain America to remember what he truly is. Bucky doesn’t mind needing to remind him.

“Walk, then,” he orders, watching avidly as Steve pushes to his feet and paces forward easily. He really can navigate the room without seeing it, but Bucky still reaches out when Steve gets close enough, tugging him into Bucky’s chest, folding his arms around shoulders a little taller and broader than his own, but still somehow shockingly frail whenever Bucky gets him like this.

“You’ve been busy this week, omega,” he rumbles, knowing their closeness with push the vibrations right into Steve’s core. “I don’t like that.”

That Bucky doesn’t like it is, ultimately, irrelevant. It’s the job and they both know it. But right now has nothing to do with the job and Steve shivers under the implicit threat, leaning a little harder into Bucky’s body. Good.

Pleased at how Steve is already starting to sink, Bucky gropes his ass a few times, enjoying the pert strength there, before pressing in between to rub over his hole. The chuckle that follows isn’t intentional and really shouldn’t be so damned _fond_.

“You’re soaked,” he observes, sliding his fingers back and forth through the slick, wet mess he finds. “Drippy little slit is damn near sloppy with it. You want it that much, omega? So eager to greet your alpha?”

Steve usually takes a while to get going. Oh, once he does he’s a fountain that most whores would envy, but usually it takes some work on Bucky’s part to make certain that Steve’s slick enough for any kind of play. That he’s already slick and a little loose is proof of how hard this week has been on both of them.

“Or have you been wet for a while now, knowing you were coming back to me. Did you start leaking in that skin-tight uniform? If I pick it up will your panties be soaked through? Or was it so bad I’ll see a wet-spot on your uniform? Did anyone else see you get sloppy and needy, hm?”

Steve doesn’t answer, not that Bucky really needs one. Not when Steve is trying to burrow his way deeper into Bucky’s arms, even as his hips start rocking backward, letting two of Bucky’s fingers sink inside him to the first knuckle without any resistance.

Really, that’s its own kind of answer.

“Desperate slut,” Bucky mocks him, voice sweeter than honey. “Lemme see—yeah, it’s slick down your thighs. Wet omega. Good thing your Alpha knows how fucking needy you are, hunh? Got you a nice present to help. C’mon, omega, turn around and sit back down now. No, blindfold stays on. I’ll help.”

Since the moment Bucky first saw the chair online he’s been envisioning this moment: Steve, naked and glorious with it but for a slash of black fabric around his eyes and Bucky’s hands—pink and silver both—tight against Steve’s hips, easing him _back_ and _down_.

When he finally lowers his ass enough Steve’s cry is sharp and threaded with surprise. He fights, instinct making him jerk to get away, but Bucky is expecting it. He growls something wordless and controls the movement with a show of force that normally leaves Steve gasping, manhandling Steve back until he’s all the way down.

Once Steve is fully seated, ass completely flush on the chair, Bucky kindly gives him a few moments to adjust. Well, he’d say it’s kindness if Steve asks.

Mostly what he’s doing is admiring the way that big, beautiful body strains against the new sensation, already starting to dampen with sweat. Heavy, gasping pants does amazing things to Steve’s tits and one of Bucky’s joys in life is taking advantage of how sensitive they are.

Steve does—eventually—adjust enough to still. Only when that happens does Bucky tug off the blindfold and hold up the image of his newest purchase.

It is, as mentioned, a chair. Wood with a few metal accents here and there, a back that will barely crest someone’s hips it’s so low, and a thick seat shallow enough that it really only allows the back of someone’s ass to perch there.

And in the center of that seat is a thick, knotted dildo.

Steve stares at the image on the face of the box, then looks imploringly up at Bucky. He’s too good to actually protest but the desire to do so is written billboard large on his features. He knows what’s coming. That he does know makes Bucky grin. He could leave Steve in suspense but sometimes saying it aloud, confirming it, makes it so much better.

Well, better for Bucky, anyway.

“Some of the guys are coming over for a beer and a baseball game,” he informs Steve cheerfully. “You’re entertainment. Think I’ll have you dance for them since it’s damn near a lap dance, even if it isn’t their laps. Maybe they’ll play with this little cocklette or tug on your pretty tits.”

Bucky acts out his musings, rubbing a knuckle over the head of Steve stubby, slim omega cock—Steve has to bite back his shout—before kneading Steve’s left tit until Steve can’t fully swallow back his moans, body rocking into the rough touch.

It forces him deeper onto the dildo, prompting even more squirming in a delicious feedback loop.

“Pretty toy,” Bucky breathes, rolling Steve’s nipples until the omega finally makes one of those fragile little noises that means they’re submitting. “Fuck, Stevie, you’re so gorgeous, spitted and stuck for whatever I want. If you’re good I’ll fuck your mouth while they’re here. D’you want that? Show everyone what a perfect omaga slut you are, eager to take your Alpha’s come, to make sure I’m sated.”

Whether Steve wants it or not isn’t really important, but Bucky knows he does. He can feel it with each shuddering, gasping breath and the way his hips never really stop rolling. His Stevie might fight it, has always fought it, because he’s a god damned stubborn jackass, but underneath it all he’s an omega. A needy, sloppy, desperate plaything for alphas, reliant on their come and approval.

Fuck, Bucky loves him.

The half-formed plans to wait until everyone arrives abruptly gets a revision. He can’t wait, lust rising into his throat until he’s breathing salt and musk on every exhale. Long practice means undoing his pants one-handed is easy, helpful when he can’t bring himself to let go of the firm, addictive feel of Steve’s tit heavy in his palm.

Getting a hand around himself, Bucky orders, “Fuck yourself on that cock. Wanna see you dance for me. Go on, Stevie, show me what you can do.”

The last time Bucky asked for this, one presumed-death and a lifetime ago, Steve was skinny as a twig, held together with sinew and spite. Watching him dance had been enjoyable, definitely—Bucky sometimes misses that narrow chest with its prominent ribs. But watching him now is a religious experience. Strippers would pay a fortune for all that easy, graceful sinuousness as Steve clenches his core into sharp relief, rocking into the dildo, hips rolling in a rhythm Bucky knows intimately. The pace gradually quickens, the dildo sinking deep, then deeper, into Steve’s eager body. He keeps his eyes on Bucky, watching for any hint of approval, of the micro-expressions that will guide him like reins tugging a bit.

Bucky thinks about finding a gag, then dismisses it. He enjoys it when Steve bites his lips plump and red, swelling until all he needs is the rouge painted on his cheeks, a bit of black to enhance his long lashes.

The scent of desperate, needy omega fills the apartment. Bucky breathes in deep, savoring it, even as he strips his cock faster and faster. Steve is staring at it now, mouth gaping slightly, maybe because he remembers Bucky’s earlier suggestion or because he just can’t help it, always desperate to suck on Bucky’s thick alpha cock until it spurts the come Steve needs to reach his own relief. It doesn’t matter either way because Bucky isn’t going to use that mouth right now.

He can’t wait.

“Fuck, Stevie,” he growls, hand flying until he finally grunts once, his come striping over Steve’s chest and belly, dripping over his cocklette while Steve whines desperately, arching back to make sure he’s a broad canvas for Bucky’s relief.

He’s such a good omega.

Bucky wrings the last of his come out onto Steve’s skin, lassitude spreading along his bones. It isn’t that he’s gone without the past week, but both of them have been too busy to really play. He’d needed this.

“That’s better,” he hums, mostly to himself even as he reaches out to smear his come down between Steve’s legs, thumbing his cocklette until Steve is trying to rear back, away from the overwhelming sensation. “Damn, I needed that. Not you, though, sweetheart. You don’t get to come until the other alphas are here to watch. Told you, you’re entertainment.”

Steve has the bluest damn eyes, and they’re even more powerful when wet with tears. “Alpha,” he begs. “Alpha.”

“No. You can stop fucking yourself for now. I’ve got to get some snacks prepared. Natalia’s bringing her omega and he eats enough for two super soldiers.”

With a final pat to Steve’s sensitive, swollen cocklette, Bucky leans down and steals a languid kiss. Well, to him it’s languid. Steve is a little too eager, at least until Bucky growls and forcibly grabs his jaw, taking control of the kiss and fucking into Steve’s mouth with his tongue until the omega finally relents, relaxing and going pliant for his alpha’s desires.

“Such a good omega,” Bucky praises him softly. “Here, I know what’ll keep you content while I get things set up. I bought the upgraded model, you know. Nothing but the best for my baby doll. Lean back, good omega. So good.”

Keeping up a steady stream of praise, the kind that make all omegas go limp and dazed and so damn happy, Bucky puts himself away and then tugs something from beneath the seat of the chair. It fits right where, in a normal chair, the rest of the seat would be, putting it snugly underneath Steve’s cocklette and cute little omega balls, clicking into place.

Steve freezes, expression awash in terror.

“Such a smart omega,” Bucky croons, stealing a final kiss. “Ready? Here’s your reward, that’s it. Push all the way down, get that fat dildo all the way inside of you. Good omega, here you go.”

With a flick and a smile that used to make the Winter Soldier’s victims go rigid in fright, Bucky turns the vibrator on.

It’s less than thirty seconds before Steve starts a continuous, broken little mewling whine.

Oh, perfect. Now Bucky doesn’t have to worry about music before the game starts.


End file.
